This was no ordinary tennis match. This was Anna Kournikova and all the spectacle and hoopla she brings with her. This match exceeded the bounds of conventional sports -- it was a true event of the like that central Virginia hadn't seen in a while.
In front of half of Albermarle County -- or at least every male University student still in Charlottesville the week after final exams -- Anna Kournikova played one match, free to the public, at the exclusive Boar's Head Sports Club. She played just one match -- her opening round draw against Bruna Colosio -- and she lost. Yet there was no mistaking the fact that she was the star of the week in spite of her very brief cameo. After all, this was a woman intensely sought after by the likes of Enrique Iglesias and seemingly half the Russian hockey team.
And there I was. Sitting in the second row, a mere three feet from her coach for the match, in the special press seating. Who knew that when I signed up to be a part of the Cavalier Daily sports section that I would be covering Anna Kournikova? This was special. Though I had never before been particularly infatuated with the Russian bombshell, I can still safely say that I was looking forward to the post-match press conference.
There was to be no mistake as to why people were interested in this tennis tournament. Throughout the day, everyone, even the senior citizen crowd, was talking about when she was arriving in town and when she would make her first appearance, but they were doing it in hushed tones, as if it were top-secret information, like the timing of an impending military strike.
So when the appointed hour arrived, she marched out onto the court to the applause of an electric crowd. The ensuing two hours, to a bemused spectator with a keen eye, were absolutely hysterical. By remaining detached from the overindulgence of Anna-mania and instead by observing the sidelights to the match, I was more than sufficiently entertained. Though this was professional tennis at an exclusive, upscale tennis club, this was no ordinary tennis match. Let me explain.
To wit, at no other match would a fan with a strikingly bright yellow Pi Kappa Phi frat t-shirt be sitting in the first row.
And when it became obvious that no ball boys had been hired, there were many grown men willing to line up for the job.
I was relieved to see, thankfully, that when Anna removed her warm-up sweatshirt, at least no one yelled "take it all off," even though that was visibly the thought on many people's minds.
Now, watching tennis fans during a point can be an amusing thing, as their heads are constantly moving back and forth in pursuit of the ball. At this match, however, a distinct number of men were pretty intently focusing on only one player.
The most shrewd comment of the day belonged to a 16-year-old girl sitting in the aisle next to me. As her friend turned to her to complain about sitting on the ground while wearing a skirt, the friend turned to her and said dryly, "Don't worry -- no one's looking at you." Her age belies her wit.
The most creative sign belonged to a group of high school guys who used a Russian dictionary to write "Make love to me, Anna" in her native tongue.
The most obtrusive display of fan behavior belonged to the drivers of the Blue Chevy truck that drove by the courts blasting Enrique's "Escape" loud enough that Anna had to lose her composure and stop herself in the middle of a serve.
What confused me terribly, however, was the behavior of Anna's coach during the match. The most insightful tennis advice he gave her was "just hit the ball," and on his lap for the duration of the match were a cell phone and a book ("The Murder Book" by Jonathan Kellerman) -- as if he might get bored while watching his own player's match!
The intensity between the players grew throughout the three-set match over some hotly-contested calls made by the rotund male umpire, most of which surprisingly went Anna's way. The players grew rather catty toward each other. But no fight broke out, disappointing many.
People were so smitten with Anna that one friend of mine took a whopping 216 pictures of the match. To his defense, at least seven or eight were of Anna's opponent.
Throughout the afternoon, I sat there expectantly, ever-mindful of my chance to ask Anna a question at the post-match press conference. What would my question be? How could I make a positive impression? I was deeply troubled by this vexing predicament, knowing I might only have one chance. Asking "What did you think of all the exorbitant attention you received?" might show her that I was above all that. Asking "How did your injury affect your play?" might show my sensitive side. And then I could easily segue into "How about dinner and a movie?" as a follow-up question. Perfect. I was set.
But when she lost, she blew off the media. It was not unexpected, and of course all 20 men with press passes gave her a full 30-minute leeway on the off-chance she might change her mind and show. Just like that, my chance for one question was gone. Damn. Well, at least I had my stories from the match.
So in the end, Anna may have double-faulted a staggering 22 times (yes, I did watch the actual tennis) and may have lost to the 384th-ranked player in the world, but this little starlet certainly left quite the impression on people's eyes... and their digital cameras.
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